MY OWN CHARACTER.

Dear Fanny, I mean, now I'm laid on the shelf,

To give you a sketch — ay, a sketch of myself.

‘ Tis a pitiful subject, I frankly confess,

And one it would puzzle a painter to dress;

But, however, here goes, and as sure as a gun,

I'll tell all my faults like a penitent nun;

For I know, for my Fanny, before I address her,

She wont be a cynical father confessor.

Come, come,‘ twill not do! put that curling brow down;

You can n't, for the soul of you, learn how to frown.

Well, first I premise, it's my honest conviction,

That my breast is a chaos of all contradiction;

Religious — deistic — now loyal and warm;

Then a dagger-drawn democrat hot for reform:

This moment a fop, that, sententious as Titus;

Democritus now, and anon Heraclitus;

Now laughing and pleased, like a child with a rattle;

Then vex'd to the soul with impertinent tattle;

Now moody and sad, now unthinking and gay,

To all points of the compass I veer in a day.

I'm proud and disdainful to Fortune's gay child,

But to Poverty's offspring submissive and mild;

As rude as a boor, and as rough in dispute;

Then as for politeness — oh! dear — I'm a brute!

I show no respect where I never can feel it;

And as for contempt, take no pains to conceal it.

And so in the suite, by these laudable ends,

I've a great many foes, and a very few friends.

And yet, my dear Fanny, there are who can feel

That this proud heart of mine is not fashion'd of steel.

It can love ( can it not? ) — it can hate, I am sure;

And it's friendly enough, though in friends it be poor.

For itself though it bleed not, for others it bleeds;

If it have not ripe virtues, I'm sure it's the seeds;

And though far from faultless, or even so-so,

I think it may pass as our worldly things go.

Well, I've told you my frailties without any gloss;

Then as to my virtues, I'm quite at a loss!

I think I'm devout, and yet I can n't say,

But in process of time I may get the wrong way.

I'm a general lover, if that's commendation,

And yet can n't withstand you know whose fascination.

But I find that amidst all my tricks and devices,

In fishing for virtues, I'm pulling up vices;

So as for the good, why, if I possess it,

I am not yet learned enough to express it.

You yourself must examine the lovelier side,

And after your every art you have tried,

Whatever my faults, I may venture to say,

Hypocrisy never will come in your way.

I am upright, I hope; I'm downright, I'm clear!

And I think my worst foe must allow I'm sincere;

And if ever sincerity glow'd in my breast,

‘ Tis now when I swear ——.